


Laughing With a Mouth of Blood

by glitterbitch



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol, Anders and Fenris just want to be with her, Blood Mage Hawke, F/M, First Kiss, First Time, Hawke is crazy, M/M, Multi, They're all cute and fucked up, Threesome, Threesome - F/M/M, Truth or Dare
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 14:23:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6808813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glitterbitch/pseuds/glitterbitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>'She was a beacon in the dark, drawing them to her and never letting them out of her alluring glow. And yet she was also the all-consuming darkness, wasn’t she?'</p>
<p>In which Isabela starts a game of truth or dare, Anders and Fenris come to an understanding, and Hawke just wants to revel in blood and sex and all things good in this world.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Laughing With a Mouth of Blood

**Author's Note:**

> I challenged myself to write and publish a fic in one day - didn't happen lmao. BUT a few days later and here I am shoving a single chapter at y'all because I got way too invested in my new Hawke and decided it's gonna be tad longer than I thought aaand I needed to procrastinate my Latin translations. 
> 
> I can't wait to hear how you guys like it!!
> 
> As always thanks go to max for being super supportive!!

For the fifth night in a row, Hawke found herself at the Hanged Man. Not alone, of course – they’d all gone through a period of odd distance when they’d returned from the Deeproads, but after a few days Hawke’s group of misfits had clung together tighter than ever before. And because they followed Hawke’s lead (and because Hawke wanted to _drink_ ) they drank. Five nights in a row they’d sat in Varric’s private rooms; sometimes too quiet, but mostly far too loud. They drank and they talked and they clenched their jaws and they laughed and they cried and they _drank_. To excess, because that was the only way most of them knew how. Excess was their comfort. For various fucked up, depressing reasons, excess was their happy place.

Since well before the Deeproads, Marian Hawke had been a bolt of pure electricity; humming with energy and power, ready to react to anything. People were scared of her even when they didn’t know she was a mage; one conversation with Marian Hawke and you could feel the nervous energy burning the air around her. Anyone in Lothering would have said there was something ‘off’ about her. They were all dead, though. Luckily, rumours travelled quickly in a crowded city like Kirkwall. She’d soon have her reputation back.

For the most part, Marian Hawke’s faults lay purely in being a mage. By the age of fourteen, however, while they were still a mostly happy family, there was a sick and twisted part of her that needed more pain. She wanted to be bigger, badder and wilder than anyone in Thedas. Most days she could push that part of herself down, concentrate on taking Aveline (the original Aveline, Hawke insisted, much to the human Aveline's annoyance) out hunting, or on honing the few spells her father had taught her. Other days, all she could do was revel in the pain she wanted to cause herself - or others. There was definitely something off about Marian Hawke.

She calmed down, though. Learned to hide her crazy. By twenty, her masochistic streak had manifested into a vicious tongue and even sharper mind, which she turned on herself far too often. She was well acquainted with self-hatred by the time they lost Bethany and of course, she listened when her Mother blamed her. Hell, she’d gotten there first; blaming herself even as the ogre was reaching out, clutching at Bethany’s fragile body. They’d been able to hear her bones snap and joints pop like sticks on a fire and blood gurgled in her throat before the ogre threw her down. She could have done something. She could have – _something_. Anything.

And then Carver had gone the same way, consumed by Hawke’s greed and ego, killed by her need to have him at her side and her need to go on the blasted expedition in the first place. It didn’t help that she knew he might yet live; her cynicism merely scoffed and reminded her that she didn’t have that kind of luck.

Even after years of being beaten down, she still had that electric look to her though – she'd never grown out of that. She could still bare her teeth and make men tremble. She could still laugh and bring the world to its knees. Marian Hawke was an wayward, an out-of-control fire, a raging storm. However you wanted to say it, there was something ‘off’ about her. Deliciously, superbly, dangerously, ‘off’.

-

"Hawke!" A raucous cheer filled Varric's room as the woman herself entered, a grin lighting her face.

Down the end of the table, Anders shivered. No one noticed.

"You made it, did you?" Isabela crowed, patting the seat between her and Varric.

"What, you thought I'd ruin my streak?" Hawke laughed and sat heavily. She flung her knapsack behind her, paying no heed to where it landed.

"What is it, four nights in a row you've thrown up in Low Town, now? Going for number five?" Varric winced as Hawke's bag knocked something valuable.

"That's the one!" She aimed a triumphant finger at the dwarf and grinned dangerously.

They were all there that night – Anders, Fenris and Sebastian on one side of the table and Hawke, Isabella and Merrill sat opposite. Varric, for all that he lacked in height, sat nobly at the head of the table; sprawled comfortably in his chair with his warm yet calculating eyes making note of anything that he could use in a book. He’d once told Hawke that authors are the most proficient thieves there were; they stole from people in every situation possible, yet crafted the stolen goods into something so beautiful or entertaining that _no one cared_ that it was just an amalgamation of twisted half-truths stolen from family and friends. That speech was what had made Hawke start keeping her diary again. Aveline had placed herself opposite Varric at the other end of the table – the two calming influences in a group of flighty mages and other insanities. Together, the group laughed and snacked on the dried fruits and nuts spread across the table, utterly content and intent on having a good time. Hawke was cracking the wrinkly shell of a nut open with her teeth when at last there was a lull in the conversation, and Merrill spoke up cheerily.

"Is this when we start playing that awful card game?" There was a collective groan from half of the table, who all laughed when they met eyes.

"What, getting sick of taking all our money, Rivaini?" Varric leant around Hawke to grin at Isabela, who’d been one of the groaners. She tapped him on the nose and giggled.

"Never, darling, you know me! But I did rather think we could try a slightly more interesting game after four nights of wicked grace."

"I wholeheartedly concur," Anders raised his mug in agreement.

Justice had become more lenient with Anders as they seemed to make progress with the Circle, Anders explained on their first night out since the deep roads. Hawke had made an entirely too predictable joke about justice being the more dominant of the two, and wondering how that worked in the bedroom. From there it had dissolved into a conversation about whether sex with Anders would count as a threesome. Anders had gone bright red as Isabela and Hawke had just laughed harder and harder.

Also, it was very impressive that he could use words that big on his third mug of ale. Correctly, no less.

"Oh," Merrill's sweet face dropped. "Does that mean I'll have to learn another set of rules?"

"Don't worry kitten," soothed Isabela, "what I have in mind is nice and simple."

"I didn't know you were capable of 'nice and simple'," Fenris scoffed from down the table.

"Oh, I'm not, sweet thing." She winked at Fenris, and were he not so used to her charm he might have blushed. Sebastian had a red blush to his dusky skin just from sitting near the pirate, so Fenris truly was impressive in that respect.

Hawke flipped her hair over her shoulder and slung an arm around Isabela. The pirate was warm and solid, her tanned skin was like sunlight under Hawke’s hands. They’d tried the relationship thing, and work it most certainly did not, so they stuck to the occasional tumble to relieve tension. Hawke still coveted the feel of smooth skin and bouncy hair, and always would.

“Come on then,” Hawke squeezed her closer, “what do you plan to subject us to tonight, O’ Pirate Queen?”

Isabela gave a loud laugh and leant into Hawke. Anders got up to get another round of drinks, Merrill trailing after to help him carry them back. Fenris looked away pointedly. Everyone knew that both men were infatuated with Hawke. Merrill was just helpful.

“Truth or dare!” Isabela cried at last, a spark in her eyes that made something in Hawke rumble happily.

There was a second of quiet across the table, before Varric threw his head back and laughed, Aveline excused herself for the night, and Sebastian put his head in his hands.

“Isabela!” Hawke could barely speak for smiling so wide. “You’re my favourite person in this room.”

Varric stopped laughing to look hurt, before Hawke grinned and reached over to stroke his chest lightly.

“Apart from Varric’s chest hair, of course.”

He was nodding in satisfaction when Anders and Merrill returned and shared out the new alcohol. Hawke had finished her last mug long ago (watered down Antivan whisky), and gulped down half of her new one (the shitty house ale) greedily, smacking her lips in pleasure despite the taste – she could feel a hum in her head that was dulling her thoughts pleasantly and that was worth anything.

“What’s happening?” Merrill asked. “Oh, I’ve missed everything, haven’t I? Can I still play?”

“It’s okay Daisy, we wouldn’t leave you out,” Varric called over the noise of Hawke and Isabela laughing at what mischief they could create. “We’re playing Truth or Dare, and Isabela will explain the rules now, won’t she?” He thumped the table to draw her attention away from Hawke.

“Oh- of course Varric, darling! It’s simple, I ask someone truth or dare, they pick which they’d prefer, and-”

“Oh!” Merrill squeaked and actually _bounced_ in her chair. “I know this! We used to play a game like this in my Clan! Well, no one ever asked me to play, but I watched sometimes!”

Hawke grimaced in pity for the sweet little elf. Merrill was too adorable to be hated and feared by her clan. It was unspeakable.

“Maker,” Anders whistled, “the last time I played this was back in the Circle.”

“I used to play it with Bethany and C-Carver,” Hawke only faltered slightly on his name, and smiled widely to cover. “I dared Beth to hit on a Templar, once. She ended up sucking him off in the Chantry.”

There was a round of shocked and amused laughter, mixed with the odd disapproving but fond smile. Had Aveline not been scared off, she would have been firmly in the last category. She was the queen of fond exasperation.

“Leave the stories for the game, Hawke!” Isabela said indignantly, though grinning to show she approved of Bethany’s actions. “Right, I’ll start. Fenris, truth or dare?” She pointed a strong finger at the elf across the table and cackled.

“Maker preserve me,” Fenris groaned. He couldn’t quite hide his smile, though. “Truth.”

“Be nice to the poor thing,” Sebastian laughed.

“I think we’ve established that Isabela is not _nice_ ,” Hawke said to no one in particular. Her hands tightened into fists on the table involuntarily. That man’s voice _did_ things to her.

“Fenris, darling, when was the last time you had a good lay? Surely that’s what’s behind your constant foul moods.”

The unlucky elf was taking a sip of his wine when she asked, and Sebastian had to thump him on the back as he spluttered.

The table was engulfed in laughter, and if it wasn’t for the fact that Hawke knew exactly when his last sexual encounter was, she would agree that perhaps the lack of sex was what made him so often moody. As it was, Fenris’ eyes flicked to Hawke in a dead giveaway before he answered.

“The night before last.”

“No! You and Hawke?” Isabela didn’t miss a thing.

“What?” Merrill was aghast – probably because she’d once again missed something, rather than the thought of Hawke and Fenris together.

“Oh come on,” Hawke rolled her eyes at the pirate chortling next to her. “It wasn’t – we just-”

Anders put his mug down on the table a bit too hard, and for the first time that night Hawke’s eyes were drawn to the mage. She always forgot how gorgeous he was, with his stupid feathers and pretty, blond hair. She’d tried flirting with him, but the intensity with which he always replied did something strange to her, and she’d stayed away. Instead she’d fallen into Isabela’s bed – and Fenris’, as of the other day.

“My turn, I believe?” Fenris did his best to change the subject.

“No-”

“Was it good? Hawke, do the tattoos go down there?” Everyone wanted to know about their encounter, though of course it was Isabela who was most insistent.

“Are his ears as sensitive as-”

But Fenris cut her off smoothly; “Hawke, truth or dare?”

They held eye contact determinedly, ignoring Isabela. Varric was chuckling in the background, and Merrill still looked lost, but Hawke shouted ‘dare’ above the noise and Fenris very kindly dared her to dance the Marigold (because that seemed to be the only Fereldan dance anyone had ever heard of) atop the table. He knew she enjoyed dancing, and warning everyone to guard their mugs, she fulfilled her dare beautifully.

“You’re playing it wrong,” Isabela groaned as Hawke’s foot flew dangerously close to Sebastian’s nose. “You were supposed to dare her to flash her tits, or, or give Varric a lapdance!”

“I wouldn’t be complaining,” the dwarf in question shrugged.

The game continued in a blur as more and more alcohol was added and morals loosened – indeed, just as Isabela hoped, the game became filthier with each sip. They were all finding out far too much about each other – and in some cases seeing too much – and by the time Sebastian announced he was leaving, the table and its occupants were in complete disarray. Merrill had curled into a ball on the rug and fallen asleep at around her fourth drink, the sweet lightweight; Anders had somehow gotten three chairs closer to Hawke, to the extreme distaste of Fenris; Isabela had lost her shoes and bandana; and when he wasn’t glaring at Anders, Fenris just looked confused. Hawke herself had sharpened to a fine point and took every chance she could to flirt with someone or make them squirm – but even as she quipped and charmed them all, her head was spinning and vision half-blurred. Her inky hair had fallen into her drink one to many times and Isabela had tied it back for her, high on her head. It only sharpened her features; drawing attention to her crisp blue eyes and thick lashes; her high cheekbones and regal, pointed nose. She’d also made her way into Varric’s lap a few rounds ago, Merrill having misunderstood Isabela’s suggestion of a ‘lapdance’, and she stayed there quite happily when she was done.

Sebastian’s chair scraped against the floor and he stood somewhat unsteadily. And he hadn’t even been drinking.

“Oh Sebastian,” Isabela moaned, “must you leave us? We love you so!”

“Please do stay,” added Hawke keenly. “I would die to hear just another few words with that sinful voice of yours.”

If anything, that only scared him off faster.  
“I have early mass in the morning,” he said with an apologetic (and embarrassed) smile  
“Same time tomorrow,” Varric called to the hunched shoulders of the prince.

“Who, who were we up to,” Anders waved a finger between Isabela and Fenris, carefully avoiding the way Hawke was twirling her fingers in Varric’s chest hair.

“Me!” She cried indignantly when she realised what he was asking. “It’s my turn, you rotter!”  
“Get to it then,” Isabela made a shooing motion and grinned at Hawke.

“Anders, because you so rudely tried to skip me – truth or dare?” With shaky poise, Hawke levelled a penetrating gaze at Anders.

“Sweet Maker,” the mage dropped his head to the table with a thud. A muffled “dare” could just be heard when Fenris prodded him.

“Dare? Perfect!” Hawke swung her legs while she tried to think of something befitting a world-weary apostate.

“You’re a fucking child, Hawke,” Varric groaned as her legs kicked his as they swung. He rearranged her on his lap, but kept an arm around her waist.

“Oh, Varric, yes – keep manhandling me like that!” She squirmed against him, pressing her backside harder into his lap and grinning demonically at him over her shoulder. They both knew nothing would be happening between them, but it was fun to tease.

Anders’ head had shot up at the sound of Hawke’s pornographic moan, eyes flashing blue for a second before he shook his head and blinked a few times.

“Hawke, sweetheart, you know you’re not my type,” he laughed, and both Fenris and Anders exhaled in poorly concealed relief.

“Right, not made of wood and pretty metal parts,” Hawke faux sighed, before planting a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “Bianca’s a lucky girl!”

“That she is,” Isabela agreed suggestively. They’d found out in a previous round that Varric was packing some serious weaponry in his breeches, and Hawke would be lying if she said she didn’t want to see for herself.

“Dare,” Fenris reminded her with a wave of his still gauntleted hand. “I want to see this mage do something foolish.” He gave a wicked grin to rival Hawke’s.

A curious, bird-like tilt to her head, Hawke narrowed her eyes at Fenris, then Anders in turn. Her hair was as dark and shiny as crow feathers, and the similarities obviously didn’t end there.

“I do believe I’ve had an idea,” Hawke emptied her mug before commencing – just to build the tension. “Isabela, you know how Anders and Fenris don’t get on particularly well?”

“As in they fight if they’re in the same room for longer than a few minutes?”

“That’s the one!” Hawke confirmed with a sagely nod. “Almost as if there’s some underlying tension there, Bela.”

“You don’t mean…” Isabela was looking at Hawke with slow realisation dawning on her face.

“Anders, I dare you to give Fenris a big ol’ kiss, right on the mouth. And not just a peck, a _proper_ kiss. Tongue and all.” Hawke’s heart was beating far too quickly.

Isabela squealed so loudly that Merrill, who had slept through an off-key rendition of ‘The Dirty Damsel of Dark Town’ not half an hour ago, sat up blearily before lying right back down without a word.

"Well, this oughta be interesting," Varric commented dryly, ready to capture everything in his steel trap of a mind.

"I'm not _kissing_ that abomination,” Fenris growled, good mood apparently gone.

Yes, that was about the reaction that everyone expected. Anders, who had simply looked resigned up until that moment, bristled and shifted in his chair.

“And I don’t particularly want greasy elf all over my lips!”

“Sorry boys,” there was a dark glint in Hawke’s eyes as she leant on the table with trembling arms. “That’s how the game works! I don’t think Sebastian particularly wanted to lick Isabela’s underarm, do you?”

“Oh Hawke, you do treat a girl well,” Isabela moaned – whether about the licking or the forthcoming show was unclear. She was resting her head serenely in her hand, making the two men distinctly uncomfortable with her tender stare.

Anders and Fenris shared another disgusted look before glancing back at Hawke in unison. It seemed as though the same thought was going through both of their heads; the alternative to fulfilling their dare was simply to leave. But Hawke… Neither was ready to move from her side. She was a beacon in the dark, drawing them to her and never letting them out of her alluring glow. And yet she was also the all-consuming darkness, wasn’t she? They were both far too attracted to danger and death to stay away from Hawke for long, and the alcohol no doubt made the decision seem easier.

Without a word, Anders clenched his jaw and stood, taking the few steps to Fenris’ chair with wonky surety. Hawke clapped with glee and narrowed her eyes expectantly. Yanking Fenris up by the collar wasn’t a move many would appreciate before being kissed, but Fenris was past caring.

“Go on boys, put on a show for us,” Hawke giggled, her hands curling against the table with barely contained excitement.

Both men were just on the side of ‘drunk enough’ to listen to Hawke. If anyone else had said it they would have scoffed, but deep inside, all of them wanted to please Hawke _. If it brings out that terrifying grin,_ Anders thought to himself, _it’s worth it._

Hawke was crackling with energy as Anders pressed his lips against Fenris’, his eyes screwed tight shut. The elf tangled a hand in Anders’ hair, fine strands catching on the metal gauntlet and drawing an annoyed noise from the mage. Their kiss was angry and awkward and wholly ridiculous, but it still drew a happy purse of the lips from Hawke. Varric was laughing so hard she was jiggling in his lap, and eventually he buried his face in her back to hide his mirth. From his view, the whole night was no doubt one whole joke – Varric saw through all of their pretences.

“Good enough?” Anders panted when he broke from Fenris.

“More than any of us could have asked for,” Isabela sighed, but Anders was staring straight at Hawke, some kind of dare in his eyes.

“Perfect,” she said simply, baring sharp teeth at the two of them in a crazed smile.

_There_. He sat with a thump. That was all he wanted.

Eventually the group moved on from the weird and wonderful event that was the kiss, but Hawke’s eyes remained trained on Anders and Fenris for the rest of the night.


End file.
